


Chameleon

by Pi (Rhea)



Category: Tiger & Bunny
Genre: Breathplay, Community: kink_bingo, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-31
Updated: 2012-10-31
Packaged: 2017-11-17 10:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhea/pseuds/Pi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Other uses of breath-based invisibility. Sort of a Lionel character study.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chameleon

He first discovered his gift when he was 16, hiding behind one of the square columns in his school lobby. He'd held his breath, like maybe if he sucked in tight enough, he could get thinner, disappear entirely, not be noticed. He's already stick-thin, breakable, with the too large glasses, stupid blond hair and those freckles. He'll never be strong and handsome, or pouty-lipped and beautiful, or even average looking like any of the other boys. He wishes he could be invisible. Maybe it's the wish that does it, maybe it's that this is his 16th birthday, the late end of manifestation for a NEXT, or maybe it's the brawny freshman still in his lacross pads thwacking his stick dangerously against one gloved hand. The freshman stomps past the hiding place, out toward the foot lockers and he mentally sighs relief. In that moment he glances down where his hand is resting against the wall, and it's not there. He can see the wall through his hand. 

He gasps in disbelief and as oxygen floods his lungs, color floods back down his arm, reappearing against the wall in front of him. In that moment Lionel discovers if he holds his breath long enough, he turns invisible. A world of possiblities opens before him. Mostly it makes getting out of being picked on. He can literally will himself not to be somewhere and then he isn't. He keeps it a secret though, there are few popular NEXT. Lionel saw what happened to the girl who could change the color of her eyes at will, and sometimes by accident when provoked. Once their classmates found out, it was only a week or two before her parents pulled her out of school. Lionel doesn't want to be that kid so he's careful about when he's invisible. And his is a power he has to work for. He rarely uses it on accident. Not only does he have to hold his breath. He has to want to disappear. So Lionel starts working up to it.

He joins the swim team to practice, the force of the water holding his breath back. He hates being on the swim team. He's still scrawny, with no muscle to speak of, and so the coach never lets him swim in meets. He just sits on the sidelines and works his hardest during practice, focusing on the way his lungs burn and the pressure of it builds behind his head when he refuses to take the next breath. But he has to be careful, can't show his gift to the rest of the team, holds it just until the edge, when his fingertips start to blur with the cerulean of the light refracted off the pool floor. Its how he knows for sure he doesn't want to be on the swim team. Of course, given the cold shoulder from the other players, and the way he can't stop shivering when he climbs out of the pool, feeling stupid in that ugly-duckling sort of way he's not surprised that he doesn't want to be there. But nobody notices that his hands match the color of the water. And his lungs get stronger. 

And suddenly, there's a whole world opening up before him. You can't be caught skipping class if no one can see you. Lionel times how fast he can blink in and out of existence with the slightest of breaths, just enough to keep going that extra minute, until he can stay mostly hidden up to half an hour. It makes his head spin dizzy, and he can't move, has to sit still, holding himself not-there, but it works. So he looks for dark places he can go, to hide and not-be. The dark room in the basement of the school seems a good enough starting place. The lights are a dim red, and only over the printing solutions. The corners of the room fall into deep shadow and it's only used after three in the afternoon. Lionel shifts his wardrobe to darker colors and skips P.E. to sit with the chemical smell in his nose and hold his breath in the dark. 

It's his third time hiding in the darkroom that it first happens. He's not entirely sure why he didn't anticipate it. He doesn't have friends, but he's heard other students talking about their boyfriends or girlfriends. Or girls thought of as promiscuous and where secret tryst spots might be, how to find one. Lionel's sitting on one of the stools in the far back of the darkroom. His fingers curled around it have turned it invisible as well. No one would know he was here. The rotating door on the dark room whirrs, the shuffling spin sound of another person entering. Lionel gasps in surprise, a full inhale of air. He quickly closes his eyes, focuses on the not existence of breath. When he opens them again and looks down, he's not there. In front of him, strides a girl, pressing a taller boy back against the bank of photo equipment. Her hands are fisted in his shirt and for a moment Lionel is worried he's about to witness a fight. There's no way he could exit without them noticing, the door spins, to keep the light out, and the sound would be as obvious as the movement. But then she's kissing him. Leaning up against the boys body in a way that leaves no space between them to imagine. Lionel averts his eyes, but there's really not much else in the room to look at. They're distracting to say the least. He glances back at them curiously. The lack of air is starting to scorch his lungs. He's going to have to breathe soon. Will they leave. How can he make them leave. He digs his fingers against the chair, his knuckles would be white restraining the breath within him. It's only five minutes into 3rd period. If they're in a free period they could intend to be here the whole 45 minutes. Lionel wonders if they'd notice him if he breathed quick. 

A minute or so later when it becomes clear that the girl has designs on more than just making out and is, in fact, tugging her partner out of his pants. Lionel's breath gasps out, but the two are distracted enough not to notice. He breathes fast and deep, the air flooding cold into his lungs. He wonders if the slight floral tinge to the air is her perfume. There's the rumble of sound from the boys throat, something too quiet for Lionel to hear, but her hitched giggles are certainly loud in the quiet of the room. She hikes her skirt over her waist. Neither of them are bothering to get fully undressed. Lionel wants to adjust his glasses where they're starting to slide down his nose, but he's afraid of any movement making the stool squeak, or perhaps shift against the floor. The boy fishes something out of his pocket with a grin that's warm in the red light. The tear of the condom packet opening flinches through Lionel like a gunshot. The stool doesn't squeak. Lionel shoves his glasses closer. The girls climbing against the boy now, using a stool, not unlike the one he's sitting on, to perch above. Her underwear lies crumpled on the floor next to the boys shoes. Lionel has a second of thought that he hopes the boy doesn't step on them, because that would be unfortunate. The world is starting to blur in front of his eyes, just a little. The boy gets his hands up her shirt and she makes a noise that is probably akin to agreement. It's high and breathy, and pleased. Her skirt is still on, it flops down to cover them, where the boys hips work up against her. Lionel can just see the curve of her buttocks and the flex of the boy's thighs where the fabric bunches and shifts. Her shirt hikes up under the boys hands, exposing her back to the room. Lionel knows if he makes any sound, he'll breath. Sound and air are connected, he bites back anything that might catch their attention. It makes sparks dance against his eyes, her spine waving in his vision, half true motion, and half the dance of his pulse pounding against the airless-ness in his head. 

The boy starts moving faster, his movements screeching the chair across the floor. The girl laughs, the sound high and sharp. She leans into his hands. Her hair falls down about her face and Lionel holds very, very still. He can see when it happens, the way the boy jerks under her, uncoordinated and rapid can hear the grunted curse words from across the room. She has a hand down between them, the skirt pulled fully out of the way to make room for it. He can see everything, the glint of sweat on the boy's thighs, the way her skin stretches tight around him, the stuttering final jerks as he arches up against her. He can't see her hand, blocked by their bodies, but he does see the ripple of muscles across her back, the sudden tension in her shoulders as she grinds one last time against herself. Black is eating into his vision and Lionel is sure this is probably the longest he's ever gone without air. Still he can't bring himself to tear his eyes away. His breath comes out harsh into the room. It cuts across the hum of the lights and the shush of water in the pipes overhead. Lionel closes his mouth immediate, inhales sharp and fast willing don't see me, don't see me. The boy's breath is panting louder, louder than Lionel's single, awkward sound.  
"Did you hear that?" the girl asks. She shifts awkwardly, leaning down to grab her underwear.  
"No." the boy shakes his head. His smile is stupid and he leans up to kiss the girl again. She stops, underwear dangling from her fingers to press their lips together.  
"Must have been nothing." She mutters when she wriggles the fabric up over her hips, smoothing down her skirt and tucking her shirt back in. "How do I look?" she asks and spins. The boy cups a hand around her arm.  
"You look gorgeous." He answers. She pecks him on the cheek. The boy stays behind an extra moment to set the stool back against the wall. He looks over the room, his eyes passing through the spot where Lionel would be if he could be seen. With a shrug the boy leaves. 

The groan of relief that leaves Lionel's lungs is probably the longest sound he's ever made, when the shush of the door spinning is truly quiet and only the hum of the lights is left. Lionel breathes, air welcome in his lungs, hands real against the stool beneath him. There are five minutes left in the period. He's fairly certain he can't leave the darkroom looking as he does. His pants are uncomfortably tight, and, well, it is a tryst place apparently. Lionel wheezes for a moment, sucking in oxygen in the empty room. There's still that slight floral scent, now fading back into the chemical smell of photography. Slowly, he takes one last breath, watching as his hand disappears into his pants, and then disappears all together. He thinks about what he just witnessed, the way the boy breathed hard and harsh, the girl's sounds, their breath in all that quiet. He thinks about the boys hips as his own jerk, and the way her body curved around him. He can't see himself, not-there but when he closes his eyes he can see them. Thinking of it, doing this with them, unnoticed takes him over the edge. He spills invisibly against his not-there hand, breath held tight in his chest. It isn't going to last. He's going to have to figure out how to clean this up when he becomes visible, but for the moment, he just doesn't breathe.


End file.
